Dear Loki
by Clarra-Night
Summary: Letters for a fallen younger brother. Post-Thor, pre-Avengers.


**Author's note: Wishing to make up for the failed _What If?_ thing, so this is hopefully an okay start. **

**Post-Thor, pre-Avengers (the first one, for both of those).**

 **Hope you like it :)**

* * *

He closes his eyes, letting the night sky glimmer on peacefully. This feels deceitful, because he knows he will not sleep a wink until hours later, and that any rest he gets will only be of body.

But he still tries to keep up the lie halfheartedly by re-opening his eyes only a thin crack – the stars still shine like distant treasure, as if everything is all right.

Not for the first night, he wonders if Loki can see the stars. If Loki can still see at all.

Thor will not sleep.

He scrunches his eyes shut, but a warm tear still escapes.

* * *

He feels around blindly in the blue-grey gloom. His hands shake too much to ignite a lamp, and his distress so overwhelming that even the moon hides from him behind its clouds.

As he tugs at the hard back of the chair, its leg catches on something he cannot see nor shift without breaking it. He swears, because this insignificant relic of his brother's room dare keep Thor from reaching him.

(But he cannot read these anyway)

Thor sobs.

Finally, he rips the chair out from under the desk enough that he can slip in, elbows knocking against cold wood. He manages to light the waiting lamp after two fumbling, frustrated attempts. The pen now feels as familiar as old shoes, as he begins in careful, painful ink strokes.

 _Dear Brother,_

 _I write this one in great sorrow, in the hour before first light. It reminds me of the times you confided in me your own dreamt horrors. No, I have not told anyone of them and I still promise I will never._

 _To think that a nightmare is what makes me remember you so clearly after these past months. You wore Father's helm and cloak, and bore Gungnir, but you looked frightened and unsure. We stood on the Bridge again. I recall not what you said to me in the dream, but I know you were frightened as it cracked beneath us and as you slipped._

 _Only when I woke I realised I clearly knew none of your pain. Not when you fell, not when you fleetingly ruled, or when we fought, or of any time before I forced us to Jotunheim to start a war, because clearly you must have been feeling something other than contentment with our future if you decided to follow the path that you did. And I know nothing of what pain you may be feeling now._

 _I want you home, Brother. More than anything. If that is truly no longer possible, I wish to at least be where you are too, so none shall bring you harm, not even the loneliness._

 _I am so sorry, Loki._

 _Always,_

 _Thor_

* * *

The letters began a month after the fall.

It will always be The Fall in Thor's mind. Loki fell to the lowest point of his life once he ascended to kingship, only to fall further still. Nothing else Thor knows of is as cruelly ironic.

* * *

 _Dear Brother,_

 _It's empty here without you. It has been but a few days since you fell, but every day already feels like years off my life instead of adding to the number I have lived. The others notice. Hogun is grimmer than usual around me, and Fandral and Volstagg try to avoid speaking of anything related to kingship, to coronations, to the broken Bifrost, to you. They have slipped up more than once whenever errands to other realms have required other transport means besides the main Gate, so Sif takes charge to steer the conversation away. She looks secretly pained every time. I think she misses you too. I cannot tell if they know I notice. You would, of course._

 _Father mourns your absence more than nearly everyone. He will not let his grief show in the company of other realm leaders, of course, but when it is the two of us alone, when he is not instructing how I must learn from the leader meetings, he becomes quiet. Not his usual 'coldly calculating' taciturnity as you once called it, because his eye now dims instead of sharpens. When this happens, I think he is staring down the Void to search for you. Call it what you must, but I know he mourns for you._

 _Mother is like strained lute strings or thin glass these days. She hides it as well as Father before other monarchs, but even I can see her heart will not stop searching for you. Sometimes it feels as if she searches for so long and so far that I cannot see her as she stands before me._

 _Everyone else tries to speak with me. They celebrated that Midgard was not destroyed, but I know they feel one of our number is missing. There is no one to wield the practice knives in the training fields. The library is empty most hours._

 _I need to speak with you. I would travel to meet you anywhere, if we somehow could. Maybe halfway between here and the moon. Where are you now, Brother?_

 _I miss you. You are missed. Please believe that._

 _Thor_

* * *

 _Dear Brother,_

 _The Midgardian saying "time flies when you are having fun" is falsehood, or at the very least it is useless to me, because it does not distinguish from what time does when grief settles. I think you were the one to tell me of that Midgardian saying. You probably did. You know everything._

 _It is now already nine months since you fell. One for every known realm inhabited, and in fact our friends and I have visited one each month under Father's orders for various errands. I will not bore you with the details, but I acquired a strange sting from a vicious species of flora whilst in Nornheim with Sif. I wear the Healer's bandage now, as I must for a day and a night to let the salve seep in. I was thinking earlier you would have healed the injury instantly._

 _Did I ever tell you that you were talented? Did you know that you worked harder than all of us?_

 _Did we let you feel loved?_

 _Each mealtime, as everyone banters, I keep waiting for you to slip in with your own wisecracks. You do not, of course, and then I realise I cannot even dream up what you would say._

 _What would you say now?_

 _Would you speak to me, Brother?_

* * *

There is something about knowing that Loki will never read these letters that makes Thor pour his heart into each one, in ink and loving salutations. Trying to seal as much care into them as he wishes he had for Loki himself, who would have cared little for what was in a stupid, stumbling letter if Thor had just been there to help him when he deserved it.

It is too easy to say what needs be said when it is far too late to be heard.

* * *

 _Dear Brother,_

 _As for the woman I met on Midgard in my banishment, her name is Jane Foster. I realise only now, nearly a year after you left, that you two had never even met. She is as brave and bright as any Asgardian, and she studies the outer galaxies as you did in our youth. She and her valiant friends aided me tremendously in my time on Earth. I think you would have liked her, and her friends._

 _I remember clearly that you threatened to harm her for turning me soft, when we fought in the Bifrost. Loki, I do not believe you would have really harmed her, threaten as you might. Despite the madness that ensued during your brief rule, I know you would never truly want to destroy anything that is good._

 _I wish you had met them._

 _Love,_

 _Thor_

* * *

Thor blinks awake. He realises what gnaws on the corner of his mind as he sits up in the cottony nest of blankets.

The door opens quietly, like servants bowing before their king. He nearly smiles wryly as he realises he is getting used to writing at his little brother's desk, because Loki has jabbed him a thousand and one times for never doing his share of written homework when they were children. But Thor is also getting used to seeing his little brother's room empty and lifeless, and he has to swallow past a choking lump in his throat to breathe again.

The pen, paper, ink and burnished lamp are scattered on Loki's desk as Thor had last left them. The pen has not even rolled an inch, as if knowing Thor's mistake in his letter-writing, waiting for him to return to fix it.

(Other things are not so easy to amend)

Thor crosses out a line from his latest letter, and re-writes it. His heart does not feel less broken, and Loki will not ever read this amendment, nor ever feel it, but Thor for some reason must do it anyway.

His worn sigh does not relieve him of any weight as he shuts the door behind him. He blindly traces the way from Loki's chamber to his. The path feels as natural as sunrise, so he resolves to walk it as regularly to make sure he never forgets it.

 _(I wish they had met you)_

* * *

 _Brother,_

 _The repairs of the Bridge go well, in case that would gladden you somewhat to hear. Mjolnir is invaluable in this. Heimdall seems pleased, and the others in the palace rejoice to see its former beauty restored. Heimdall tells me he searches for you._

 _Perhaps the news of the Bridge would not hearten you at all. I hope it would, but I really know not. I don't know what you thought about its ruin by my hand. There must have been many other worries that filled your head as you fell, by my hand._

 _Love,_

 _Thor_

* * *

Thor had wanted to add more to _Heimdall tells me he searches for you._ But he can barely fathom where Loki is right now, whether or not his little brother is cold, or afraid, or still angry, or missing him, let alone write wasted questions about it to someone who will never read it.

And he does not know if he dares hope that good news will meet Heimdall's efforts.

* * *

 _Dear Brother,_

 _Today I passed through the hall you and I waited in before the first coronation. As I did, I recalled, from when I foolishly thought all was well, you telling me to give you a kiss. Surprisingly, I found I struggled trying not to laugh. I could not help a smile, however. One of the guards thought I smiled at him, and nodded with a smile in return. This place is boring without you._

 _I recall you also told me to never doubt that you love me. I hope you knew not to doubt that I love you too. Did you?_

 _I'm sorry._

 _Love, always,_

 _Thor_

* * *

The night air chills his feet. He burrows them under the thick quilt at the end of the mattress, but the fabric is also devoid of warmth, and he shivers.

When Thor is sick enough of tossing and turning sleeplessly, he pushes himself off his bed, making the mattress creak softly. The bare floor is a cold kiss against his heels before he pulls on his boots.

The palace is as silent as a dead forest as Thor treads the corridors. He bows his head against the shadows thrown by the flickering lamplight as though they are harsh gales, or unneeded reminders of his lost younger shadow.

He reaches the garden without encounter. Frigga used to lock the doors to her private garden at night, before she found Thor there one day, pacing with bundles of the blunt training knives in his arms.

* * *

"They want to remake them into other practice weapons," Thor had said.

Frigga had just watched him tenderly for a while. "Surely they heed your command as a prince to leave the daggers as they are? Perhaps new soldiers will decide to learn with them to complement their other skills – "

"They don't believe that. Neither do I." He had been unable to stop the pain twisting his expression. "I know this is absurd – "

"Give them back, and I will tell them to leave his favourite to you."

Frigga's expression was hidden behind her long hair as she turned away collectedly. It did not matter. They could see the other's shared pain with their eyes shut.

"Thank you, Mother," he had whispered.

* * *

"I'm glad you find sanctuary here."

She speaks from behind him quietly enough to not even disturb the breeze. As Thor turns, his mother's grey eyes search his face with a fierce tenderness that makes him want to weep. The clouds sail around the moon protectively, as though sensing Thor's ache and preparing to shield the light from him again.

Thor does not reply, and he does not need to. She knows what he seeks sanctuary from just as he knows that, when they are alone together, Loki is a third, missing presence their shared grief screams and begs for.

"What have you been writing so often in his bedroom, Thor?"

This question takes him off guard. Thor has told no one of his pitiful letter-writing. But he is surprised more because he had felt that no one remained who could know things about him that he had not deliberately revealed.

"Letters." The word drifts away to settle among the flowers and dewy grass. That is all Frigga needs to hear.

It is so painful watching their mother's heart hurt for them. Thor sees it in her eyes. Loki's absence is enough to make the suns stop shining.

"All to him?" She whispers. It is not really a question.

The stars keep shining like distant treasure, as though everything is all right. The memory of his little brother treads quietly among the trees. It tosses knives in the training field, and it reads in the library. It does not read letters, or reply.

Thor answers her anyway. "It's not enough."

* * *

It is only sundown when Thor next enters Loki's room. The orange-gold light colours a thick stack of worn paper that has been placed neatly atop the desk. The sun's glow casts the other tabletop items in shadow, urging him to investigate the new one.

The paper is silky like white rose petals, and Thor recognises it as the kind that their chancellors or other staff might use to leave messages for Odin or to communicate with other realm leaders. But these papers also feel slightly old, creased heavily along the same lines as though folded and unfolded many, many times.

His hands shudder once he recognises her handwriting, and eventually he cannot read anything past the cries that silently cradle him.

 _Dear Loki –_

 _To my youngest…_

 _Dear Son,_

 _Little one –_

 _I love you_

 _We love you_

 _We –_

 _Loki_

Like Thor's, Frigga's handwriting over the months trembles with unwritten sadness. Like Thor's, it begins and closes with loving words that speak only to unhearing ears. Like Thor, it does not seem less broken despite all the passing time.

(Never doubt that I love you)

* * *

When Thor receives the news from Heimdall, he does not know what to think. But he knows what to do.

But before that, he feels he needs to write a final letter.

* * *

He tugs at the hard back of the chair. Its leg catches on something he cannot see nor shift without breaking, so he breaks it. Nothing will keep Thor from reaching him.

The pen tremours in his hand as he scrawls.

 _Loki_

 _Heimdall sees you on Midgard_

 _I'm coming_

* * *

 **Again, I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think? I'd love to hear from you :)**

 **This posting was a little rushed, so feel free to point out if I've made any editing errors.**


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